


Fix

by CreateInsanity



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Porn with Feelings, season 5, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateInsanity/pseuds/CreateInsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After things settle down in the barn, Rick talks to Daryl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix

**Author's Note:**

> I’d very much like to emphasize that I am in no way trying to romanticize self-harm. This focuses more on Daryl’s ideas of self-worth and him feeling worthy of something, be that Rick’s affection or something else (mainly badly written porn). Rick also thinks he's abusing the situation for about 3 seconds. 
> 
> Please excuse any errors and English/American spelling issues.
> 
> This was written really quickly, and really late last night so please don't judge to harshly if it's a bit crap. (I wasn't gonna post it but I feel bad that the Home sequel is taking awhile).

Daryl looks tired as shit.

Heck, Rick knows that they all look tired, but Daryl looks dead on his damn feet.

He also knows that Daryl isn't going to sleep tonight, can remember too many nights in the prison where storms had kept Daryl awake, kept him alert. Rick surmises that it must be something about their unpredictability, their destructive nature, because Daryl is hyperaware more than nervous.

Daryl would pass out from exhaustion before he let his family's safety be compromised by sleep.

Rick walks over once he starts pacing, when it’s only the two of them awake. He places a careful smile on his face, folding his hand around Daryl’s elbow only after he sees the tiniest upward twitch of lips in response and moving him towards the front of the barn.

It’s separate from everyone else, right by the door they’d struggled against earlier.

Rick lowers himself down onto the half damp pile of straw beside the door, Daryl following his lead, pressing against Rick from shoulder to thigh and eliminating the slight chill spreading through the straw beneath them.

Rick takes Daryl’s hand in his own, locking their fingers together, absentmindedly running a hand over the circular scar he knew lay nestled in the webbing between fore finger and thumb.

“I’m sorry.” It was mumbled, hesitant, _reverent_ almost and Rick could see Daryl looking at him like he was expecting denunciation and all of a sudden he realizes just _how much_ Daryl depends on him, how much Rick’s approval means to him. 

His stomach twists and for a terrible moment he thinks he might actually be sick.

Rick was a cop, he knows the type of stories that circulate around a misplaced sense of dependency, people that would never leave, never even consider leaving their partners. No amount of bruises or broken bones, of battered, bloody psyches would alter that perception of complete reliance, the need to follow, to be with, to obey.

And God, Rick knew that this wasn't healthy, hoped he could retain enough of himself to never take advantage, never become something that could ever hurt Daryl ( _he’s been hurt enough already_ ).

The thoughts swirl bitterly inside his head, and it’s only when he refocuses on bright blue eyes -on the shadows that fall over them as much as they consume them- that they’re obliterated, scattering away like shadows, bled from the room in the encroaching light.

_‘I’d die before I hurt him.’_

Oh, he loves Daryl so much.

And a lot of the time, loving Daryl is a blissful pain. Rick knows how it hurts to look at him and see someone who is _so_ strong and doesn't even realize it. Knows the agonizing ache that sears its way round his head, reminding him that Daryl doesn't know what he’s worth, doesn't see it, probably won’t ever see it. 

_‘You want blood. I get it. Take it from me, man.’_

Rick knows he could tell Daryl he loves him every minute of every day and it wouldn't alter his perception of himself at all, and most would think that made the words feel worthless, but if anything Rick thinks it makes them that much more precious.

That he can try and even it out, balance Daryl’s thoughts. Like Daryl’s a swirling mass of acid and Rick’s an alkali. He knows the stronger Daryl’s thoughts get the stronger his words will have to be, to contradict, to neutralize. Not to mend but to settle.

He doesn't know how long Daryl suffered, can’t decipher how many years a lie takes to ring like the truth, to damage someone so much. He doesn't know how long they’ll make it, whether he’ll have just as many years to remind Daryl of his worth, but he’ll do it every day for as long as they have and hope that it makes a difference.

It’s been silent between them for a long time when Rick notices that Daryl’s biting his lip so hard he can see blood blooming from underneath his teeth. He reaches up, soothes a hand over the side of Daryl’s jaw and pries his lip free, running his thumb through the blood droplet before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Daryl’s. He’s almost hesitant in his contact, not sure if this is something Daryl can handle right now.

Daryl doesn't press Rick back so much as he leads him down, curling a hand around his shoulder, moving it to mess with the fine strands of hair at the very base of his neck and gently toppling them into the straw, pulling Rick to land above him.

Rick is unhurried with his explorations of Daryl, thorough in searching his mouth as much as his body. He undresses Daryl in layers, peeling away his vest and shirt like he’s never seen what lies beneath it, like it’s their first time all over again.

Only when Daryl is naked and laying like an apparition of temptation itself does Rick undress himself, carelessly stripping clothes; the comparison between this and how he had undressed Daryl obvious and very much intended.

He kneels at Daryl’s feet, all rolling power and domination and desperation for Daryl to _know_ , to see how much he means to him.

He presses a kiss against the bridge of Daryl’s foot, trailing his lips up and rolling them against the joint of his ankle. He barely registers the near silent gasp that falls from Daryl’s lips, catches out of his peripheral vision the arm that Daryl lifts to stifle it and while Rick would love to hear every noise that he can pull from Daryl, he knows how precarious their current privacy is.

Turning back to Daryl’s ankle, he gently skims his teeth over Daryl’s lower leg, placing another kiss at his shin once he reaches it.

“What are ya doing, Rick?” Daryl says, as quietly as he is able with the way his chest works for air.

Rick kisses his shin in response, letting his lips brush along Daryl’s skin as he shifts to mouth to his thigh, resting his forehead against the bend of Daryl’s hip and blowing against the overheated skin, the earlier storm leaving the air heavy and humid, their activities doing nothing to cool the atmosphere between them. 

Daryl shivers, his head leaning back into the straw below them. His bared neck is stunning, enticing, and an animalistic part of Rick calls to bite and hold, take Daryl by the hips and fuck him until he _screams_. But this is fragile, this is careful and right now Daryl feels far too much like splintered glass beneath Rick’s hands for him to risk it, scared that any forceful movements might be a tipping point, might topple Daryl and break him.

Instead, he licks a line from one of Daryl’s hipbone to the other, trailing a feather light finger along the length of Daryl's cock and feeling his own jerk at the bitten off whine that follows.

He pulls his hands away, quick, feather light kisses upon Daryl’s stomach acting as the only form of apology Rick will offer. Daryl’s breaths are quick, his rib-cage expanding and contracting in a way that Rick _adores_. He takes his time to skim the tip of his nose over every raised ridge he can feel, sucks gentle marks into every hollow that follows. He brings both his hands to Daryl’s waist, holding him still as he leans his head down and licks a slow, long line from his naval to the base of his throat.

When he raises his head, Daryl’s face is relaxed, both of his eyes closed and his mouth openly gasping quiet lungful’s of air into needy lungs.

Rick leans over him, holding himself up on his forearms and covering him completely. When Daryl’s eyes remain closed, he places a kiss to Daryl’s forehead, adding another to each of his eyelids and cheeks, only allowing their lips to meet once his eyes are locked with matching baby blues.

Their kiss is languid, unhurried and Rick wishes they had more guaranteed time in the world, so that everything they shared could be this slow.

Bringing his fingers to Daryl’s mouth, Rick gently pushes them past his lips, feeling them slacken and fall soft to accept them. Daryl’s cheeks hollow as he sucks them, gathers saliva in his mouth and spreads it round each, and the pure sight of him makes Rick’s hips jerk, pushing his cock up against Daryl’s.

And, _God_ , it’s a really good thing his fingers were in Daryl’s mouth, because that moan would've drawn some attention.

It certainly draws Rick’s, and he’s as close to impatient as he’s been this whole time as he moves damp fingers from Daryl’s mouth down to his hole. Daryl’s legs spread, his thighs hooking over Rick own as Rick kneels between them.

Daryl muffles his whines into the crook of his arm as Rick preps him, his hips thrusting down onto Rick’s fingers, his cock flushed bright red and irritated at the lack of stimulation. Daryl has never liked prep as much as Rick does, knows that he can take the pain and thinks that means he should. But even Daryl can’t deny his reaction when Rick bends his fingers, dragging them over the little bundle of nerves that drives Daryl absolutely _wild_.

“Please.” It’s whisper soft, and muffled almost completely, but Rick is attuned enough to Daryl’s pleas that it remains recognizable.

“Turn onto your side, baby.” Rick whispers, gentle removing his fingers and moving off of Daryl to allow him to shift. Firmly reattaching himself along the length of his back once he’s settled.

Rick moves one of his own legs to push Daryl’s forward, using one hand to brace himself and another to guide his cock into Daryl’s hole. Daryl is hot, _tight_ , around him and Rick has to stifle a groan against Daryl’s shoulder blade at the feel. Settling down, he places a hand against Daryl’s stomach, feeling the muscles ripple against his hand.

He knows that he would allow all the time in the world for Daryl to adjust, to prevent himself from hurting him, but Daryl’s insistent hips are pushing back against him in no time and Rick is helpless but to give him what he wants.

Pulling out all the way, he teases the rim of Daryl’s hole with the head of his cock, watching a drop of pre-cum smear against it. Daryl whimpers, one of his hands twisting itself into the straw beneath them and another overlapping Rick’s on his stomach.

When Daryl’s whines are near constant and he’s struggling to keep them quiet, Rick thrusts his cock forward again, watching the beautiful arch of Daryl’s back against him. Rick stays still, moving his hand to encircle Daryl’s cock. He doesn't move at all, instead listening to Daryl’s whines and doing nothing to alleviate the need he’s feeling.

Soon enough, Daryl rolls his hips back, pressing himself down onto Rick and forward into his fist. Rick keeps still, stifling his own groans into the back of Daryl’s neck, letting his teeth latch softly onto the skin there. Daryl picks up the pace, groaning in frustration as Rick continues to lie still, as Rick mouths kisses against his spine.

“Rick.” Daryl hisses, clenching his muscles around Rick’s cock and rotating his hips against him. Rick growls, the feel of Daryl’s hole around him making his bite into the skin beneath his teeth. He thrusts his hips up, barely managing to bring a hand up to stifle Daryl’s moan in time. Rick watches himself move in and out of Daryl’s hole, watches the way Daryl grinds back against him.

“Oh, good boy Daryl.” Rick says, whispers it into his ear and watches as Daryl’s whole body shivers. He brings the pace down, thrusting into Daryl leisurely, remembering the fragility of the situation, remembering what this is for. To worship Daryl, to praise Daryl, to love Daryl. “You’re so good. So beautiful like this, so gorgeous.”

Daryl whines, exhausted and rock hard against Rick’s hand. He pushes himself into the grip, letting out a breathy groan when Rick takes over, lets Rick lavish him in sensation. He can feel himself getting close, can feel the slide of Rick’s cock against his prostate, the steady grip of Rick’s hand along his leaking cock, and Rick’s so tender it almost hurts. For a minute, he wants Rick to go back to _fucking_ him, to bite him and scratch him and break him, because a part of him says he deserves it.

“You gonna cum for me baby.” Rick’s voice pulls him back, lets him feel it all again, brings him right back to the edge. With Rick like this, he feels loved, so encompassed in emotion he can allow himself to believe he _does_ deserve it.

That thought and Rick’s words push him right over the edge.

“That’s it, good boy.” Rick mouths at top of his spine, thrusting through his own completion as he spills inside of Daryl, moving his hips in gentle circles that make the both of them hiss in over stimulation.

He pulls out, still breathing heavily as he moves Daryl’s body to face his own, pressing their chests together and aligning their breaths subconsciously. 

Rick lifts a hand, soothing the frown lines along Daryl’s forehead, wishing it was as easy to soothe everything rushing through the head beneath his fingers.

They lie still, panting against each others lips, inhaling any noises that sneak past them. 

Rick leans onto one elbow, takes Daryl’s left hand in his again and presses gently against the cigarette burn there. It’s his second acknowledgement of it, and he won’t mention the way Daryl tenses beneath him, lax muscles contracting with stress.

He brings Daryl’s hand up to his chest, placing it against his heart and holding it there with his, feeling his heartbeat reverberate through Daryl’s skin and back into his own.

“There can’t be anything wrong with this hand.” He whispers, tentative in his approach as much as he is determined.

“Why?” Daryl whispers back in the same tone, the conversation remaining their little secret, their silent discussion in the night, their mutual understanding of something that tries to remain elusive. Rick doesn't want this to be anything secretive, doesn't want Daryl to suffer in silence because that’s what he knows, what he’s been told is right.

“It’s had my heart for a long time.” 

“I don’t deserve it.” Daryl says, not muttered, but spoken under his breath, so tentatively fragile in its volume and so painstakingly loud in its meaning.

“Why?” Rick says, cupping Daryl’s jaw with his hand and angling his face up, not so much forcing eye contact as encouraging it.

Daryl doesn't say anything, just places a hand over Rick’s own and leans his cheek into the hold, closing his eyes and letting loose a shaky breath. Rick doesn't need him to speak to know his answer.

“You don’t break everything Daryl.”

“I break a lot a things.”

“I know first-hand that you put just as many things back together.” Rick presses a lingering kiss to Daryl’s forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes before standing up, pulling his pants on as he does.

When he leaves, Daryl knows it’s not a dismissal, can appreciate that Rick knows when he needs to process, to think things through on his own. He pulls his own clothes back on, leans his back against the wall and watches Rick. Waits until he’s settled with Judith and his breathing is even. The barn is filled with nothing more than the noise of breath exiled from lungs in the safety of sleep, the steady patter of rain on the wall behind him so tentative, hesitant in the wake of its own chaos.

Daryl turns to the music box sat on top of their supplies and picks it up.

He doesn't sleep, but he feels better when it’s fixed.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr - create-insanity.tumblr.com (excuse the Hannibal theme if you visit) 
> 
> Feel free to drop me a prompt if anyone wants to (it's nice to practice) :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
